Pilgrimage
by Brother Goose
Summary: Jaques de Payn has his own personal Crusade to the Holy Land. He will face Assassins and Saracens alike, but will he be succesful in his task...
1. Begginings

Jaques awoke to blackness, the gentle rocking of the ship served as a reminder as to where he was, and where he was going. He stumbled out of his bunk and stood for awhile letting his balance readjust to the rocking of the boat. Once he felt comfortable to move he picked his way quietly through the room full of sleeping men to a door which lead to the stairway. He ascended the stairs and breathed the fresh sea air as he emerged onto the deck of the ship. The ship was being run by a ghost crew as it was still early morning and most of the crew and passengers were asleep below deck; this left an eerie silence broken occasionally by the lap of the waves on the ships bow.

Jaques weaved his way to the rail on the side of the ship and looked down into the murky depths of the sea. This was the third week at sea for the ship and Jaques longed to see land once more. He heard someone emerge onto the deck behind him and turned to see a large Scotsman with flame red hair and beard. Robert Mchinghan was an opposing figure with a personality to match.

'Couldn't sleep then brother?' he grumbled in his rough Scottish accent.

'No, Sleep evades me brother, My mind only lies on our destination and our task…' Jaques explained.

'Aye, I know what you mean, but if you intend to dwell on it for the rest of the weeks sail to Acre, then you will be in no state to carry out the task at hand' Robert advised slapping Jaques around the top of the head as he said it.

Jaques chuckled at his friend's logic, but had to agree with him. Though he would never tell the Scotsman he was right, he wouldn't shut up about it for weeks, which would make the journey even more tiresome. Instead he decided to change the tack of the conversation.

'Have you ever been to the Holy Land Robert?' he asked.

'No I have not, but I have heard wondrous things about the home of Christ.' replied Robert.

'And what about the Saracen, and the Hashishen?' Jaques pondered.

'Infidels both, but our task will involve both, maybe all this time you have been training with your blades on this forsaken boat will pay off.' Robert chuckled to himself.

'Aye Robert, quite possible' Jaques replied.

With this both lapsed into a comfortable silence, some time later Robert excused himself and left for his bunk. Jaques remained on deck looking at the stars and daydreaming about home.

Jaques de Payn was born into a noble family in London, England. He had joined the Knights Templar as a sergeant at the age of 13. He had always excelled in combat and had won three tourneys to show this. He had performed his chores dutifully; cleaning out the stables, sharpening his master's weapons and oiling the saddles for their horses, until the day eventually came when he was knighted. He had taken the white mantle of the Knights Templar at the age of 18. It was the happiest day of his relatively short life; his Mother and Father had looked on as he had been accepted as one of the Knights of Christ. His Mother had cried, but his Father ever the strong type has just looked on with a proud expression on his face, in the way only Father's can.

He had then served in the New Temple in London for two years before being sent to the Holy Land on his own personal crusade. To find the Hashishen, gain an audience with their master, and have them turn their attention to the Saracen. Jaques had no idea why he had been chosen for this task and was filled with apprehension and nerves whenever his thoughts lingered on it for long. Unfortunately, when you are on a four week voyage across the sea, there is not much else to do but think.

The days on the boat had passed with Jaques vigorously training with any form of weapon he could find, between this, his prayers and the jobs he had volunteered for on the boat; the days flew by. When night fell however with nothing for Jaques to do but sleep he often found himself on the deck of the ship thinking about the Holy Land, his task, and often his home.

Time passed and the sun began to rise above the deep blue of the sea. Jaques took this signal that the new day was coming and rose from his position on the deck and began to head back to his bunk to retrieve his weapons for the days training.


	2. Journeys

Jaques was emerging onto the deck of the ship just as the first warming rays of the sun began to creep onto the deck. He felt the familiar feeling of stiffness in his body which only comes from sleeping on an uncomfortable wooden cot for long periods of time. He adjusted his mantle and stepped out into the the new day.

As Jaques gingerly made his way toward the stern of the ship to break his fast he noticed a tall figure making his way toward him with purpose. The Captain of the _"Mary-Anne" _was an Italian by the name of Guilamme. He was wearing a dark red overcoat and attached to his belt was an old rusted falchion which had obviously seen plenty of service.

"It's a wonder that sword is still serviceable Guilamme, one fine strike and it will be nought but a pile of rust" noted Jaques in greeting.

"Aye yet she would still see your sorry Templar hide in the ground given the opportunity" laughed Guillame in response.

"I would enjoy the challenge sir" chuckled Jaques, "have you another menial task for me this morning, by chance?"

"There be a bolt load of cargo that will need to be prepared for when we disembark that you could lend a hand with... unless the job is below a man of God such as yourself."

Jaques, who had been about to snap at the Captain for the remark, noted the smirk on Guillames face and split into a grin himself.

"Aye, well seen as Christ was a carpenter by trade, i'm sure he would not object to me pushing a few crates of oils..."

Both men laughed at the remark and began to move off.

Jaques parried another strike and rolled off to the side, turning to face his opponent he paused. A bead of sweat slowly worked its way down his face. Jaques wiped his face using his sword arm and then quickly brought it back up into a defensive position. Guillame suddenly rushed him, with a roar he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc towards the Templars head. Jaques just managed to place his blade in front of his face, stopping the Italians strike by no more than an inch. He struck out with his feet, catching the Italian on the shin and causing him to fall to the deck. Yelling in triumph Jaques brought his sword down to finish the Captain but Guillame had managed to roll away and was getting to his feet again.

Sensing his opportunity slipping away Jaques thrusted his blade at the Captain, the air rang out with the sound of blade meeting blade as the Templar attacked his opponent with a flurry of strikes which the Italian skilfully evaded or parried. However, the Captain was beginning to show signs of weariness.

"You're getting old Guillame, do you need a break?" grinned Jaques in jest.

"Bah, I may be older than you spratling, but don't think iv been bested yet!" Guillame spat, and charged at the Templar again.

Again the sounds of blades clashing rang out on the deck of the ship as the two men moved back and forth, locked in combat. Each with a face showing a picture of pure concentration and grit.

Suddenly a loud cry erupted from the top of the ships mast as the watchman shouted "Land on the horizon Captain!".

Guilamme, distracted by the call looked up for a second, giving the Templar the perfect opportunity. Jaques rushed the Captain with an overhead swing, the Italian, managing to regain his senses in time placed a rushed parry in between himself and the Templars blade but it knocked him off balance. As the Italian began to stumble backwards Jaques saw his chance. The Englishman struck out with his boot and swept the Captains feet from below him, sending him sprawling to the deck. Guilamme began to rise but was met with the tip of the Templars blade at his throat. Looking up into the smirking face of the Templar he shouted in dismay;

"You treacherous dog, you cheated!"

Sheathing his sword, and grasping Guilamme in the warriors handshake Jaques pulled him to his feet.

"That hurt's Italian, It is not my problem that you are so easily distracted. That will be 50 florens you owe me"

Guilamme slowly withdrew a pouch of coins that was in the pocket of his overcoat and handed them to the Templar with gritted teeth.

"Here then, take it, let it not be said that I am not a man of my word... but you did cheat"

"Guilamme, there is no shame in losing, especially to a man young enough to be your son" quipped Jaques gratefully accepting the winnings.

"Aye, well boy, It appears that we are finally approaching Acre, I suggest you ready yourself." The Captain grumbled, "And find that Scotsman that follows you around like a pack hound, before he drinks his way all through my supplies.

With a nod and a wink the Templar moved off, placing his mantle over his head and re-attaching his sword belt he moved toward the door that lead below decks. Before he entered however his eyes were drawn to the land mass which was slowly approaching. From the distance that the boat was still away from the shore it was difficult to make much out other than the dull yellow of the sand. Yet Jaques felt his heart leap into his throat. This was it, the holy land. The birth place of Christ and his disciples, and now his home...


End file.
